Just Yesterday
by EveningInHornersCorners
Summary: A collection of vignettes about Davy's childhood. As a word of warning, they are in no specific order but I have tried as hard as possible to mark them clearly. Story Two: Promises aren't so hard to keep if they're made with sincerity.
1. Mirrors of the Soul

_**A/N: So, this is just a little idea I came up with, and I don't expect much of it, but I thought it would be fun to write anyway, despite the fact that I feel like this is going to turn out being somewhat derivative of "Lone Star and Union Jack" and "California Dreamer and Connecticut Yankee". Heck, even the author's note is derivative of the former. Oh well…**_

_**If you've read my stories "All You Get Is Pain" and "A Nightmare of a Different Kind", you'll note that I'm coming up with a background story for Davy. So, I thought I'd write a collection of vignettes about his childhood. Please forgive me for any errors in the way I describe England, the way the characters speak, etc. I am not from England, and I have never been there. **_

_**These **__**will**__** be out of order due to the fact that inspiration simply doesn't work in order. However, I will attempt to make it as clear as possible when each one takes place. For reference, my Davy was born in 1947. **_

_Manchester, England _

_December 1961___

Davy pulled open the door and stepped out of the bitter cold into the warm, cinnamon scented shop. The portly man behind the desk looked up and smiled.

"Davy! How are you?"

"I get by, Buddy." He said, fighting to close the door against the fearsome wind. Buddy chuckled a little as he watched the boy's struggle.

"Here, let me do that." The older man stepped in and closed it with ease.

"Some wind today." He commented, strolling back to his post.

"And how!" Davy exclaimed, rubbing his gloved hands together.

"Would you care for some tea?" Buddy offered. "I've already put on the kettle."

"I'd love some tea. Nothing quite like it on a day like this."

"That's a fact. C'mon back to my quarters and you can take off your wraps." The boy quickly complied and followed the older man, even though he knew the way by heart.

Buddy Berry had owned and lived in the back of this little shop, which he had proudly named The Silver Bells, for as long as Davy could remember and ever since he'd been a little boy, he'd been coming here. It sold a little bit of everything it seemed, but to Davy it was so much more than a shop. It was the setting for many cherished memories that he wouldn't have traded for all the tea in China. Buddy was like a grandfather to him.

Granted, Davy loved his own grandfather dearly, but he was so dreadfully…formal. He'd much rather sit drinking tea and quizzing him about the gospel on Sunday to see if he'd actually been paying attention during church. But Buddy would join Davy and dance around to Elvis records while laughing the entire time.

Upon entering Buddy's messy but comfortable living room, he tossed his coat and hat onto the back of the sofa, then peeled off his gloves and put them inside the hat. Ever since the older man's wife, Paula, had died, the rooms were rarely cleaned, and then only when Davy's mother and a flock of her friends used force to come in and straighten things up.

Upon sitting down, Davy heard the kettle whistle. He'd always found the squealing a very comforting sound for some unknown reason.

A moment later Buddy emerged from the kitchen, carrying a tray that contained the teapot, two cups, a sugar bowl, the creamer, and a plate of lemon slices. Davy grinned wryly. Buddy knew very well that they both always took their tea black, but nonetheless he always provided cream, sugar, and lemon, just in case one of them changed his mind.

He placed the tray on the coffee table and sat down in an armchair opposite to Davy. While waiting for the tea to brew, Buddy struck up a conversation.

"So, how's your sister?"

"Bea's fine. You know the average tribulations of an eleven year-old." He smirked. An older brother himself, Buddy just grinned mildly.

"And your parents?"

"Mum and Dad? They're great. So is Grandfather. Mum's in a frenzy about our Christmas party, though." The older man nodded wisely. Anna Jones was famous for her annual Christmas party.

"Your mother is putting a lot into that party."

"You're telling _me_."

Both went silent for a moment.

Buddy was the one to break it. "The tea should probably be ready." He lifted the top off and nodded in approval at the contents. He poured it into the two cups and handed one to Davy.

"Cheers." Davy said, raising his mug.

"Cheers." The other man reciprocated, taking a long swig from his cup. "You're right. Nothing quite like tea on a cold day."

Another period of silence followed as they both easily drained their teacups and went for seconds.

"So, have you got the nutcrackers yet?" Davy finally asked as he emptied the teapot.

As long as anyone could remember, Buddy had been making nutcrackers by hand, and they were popular because of their zaniness. _Never_ would he just stick to regular kings and warriors. By his standards, that was dull. No, he always had to come up with something a little…exciting. Over the years, Davy had acquired quite a collection, including Buddy's most acclaimed creation: a Dracula nutcracker.

The portly man grinned. "I have four. I wasn't going to put them on display until tomorrow, but I'll make an exception for you. Wait here." The man quickly left the room.

Davy took the plate of lemon slices and began lining them up in different ways. It was therapeutic for some reason that he couldn't figure out.

"Here they are." Buddy announced as he reentered the living room, cradling four clean-shaven nutcrackers in his arms. Davy replaced the plate of lemon slices as the older man set the quartet on the table. Davy started at them from the left, beginning with the tallest one.

He wore a red and white checkered shirt and slightly faded blue jeans that he knew Buddy had painfully stitched himself. In his hand was a rope, the kind Davy had read about cowboys looping around the necks of cattle, stiffened enough so that it might be suspended in midair. A knitted green cap rested on his dark hair.

But it was his eyes that captivated the boy most of all. They seemed to almost burn, perhaps to say, "If you mess with me or mine, you'll get it", but yet, at the same time, somewhere in that rich brown lay a certain gentleness. It never ceased to amaze Davy what Buddy could do with a paintbrush.

The next nutcracker was just slightly shorter than the last. His brown, nearly black hair was almost unnaturally curly. He wore a drummer's uniform like those that the British Army had worn during the American Revolution. The resemblance to the ones in his history books shocked Davy; from the bearskin cap with metal plates to the yellow and red jackets to the white pants and black boots, every detail seemed perfectly in place. In his hands were two straight drum sticks, elevated slightly above the handmade drum hanging from the nutcracker's shoulder. The drummer grinned impishly, as if he were about to pull a trick on someone. His roasted chestnut colored eyes reflected similar gaiety.

The third nutcracker was just barely smaller than the drummer. He looked something like a medieval page. His sandy hair was cut in that distinctive, near the ears fashion and he donned what looked like baggy shorts, with tights beneath, and what appeared to be a long-sleeved, white-collared purple shirt. Around his waist was a black pouch and on his feet were shoes that looked similar to Mary Janes. He clutched a scroll that had but one word on it: PEACE.

And his solid brown eyes did, in fact, appear to be those of a peacemaker. They were mostly filled with compassion, but there was perhaps a hint of anger there. Anger over people fighting.

The fourth and final nutcracker was significantly shorter than the others. He was dressed a little flashily, in a pinstripe suit and red tie. His chocolate eyes were just the slightest bit fiery. But within there was a kindness that, to Davy, did not go unacknowledged. His dark locks were meticulously combed, and in one hand he held a pair of red high heels, while in the other was a hand-carved wooden dictionary.

Overwhelmed by the beautiful craftsmanship, Davy looked eagerly at Buddy. "How much do these cost?"

The older man's face softened. "Davy, you know I could never charge you for anything. You remind me too much of my son, Nigel, God bless his soul. Just tell me which one you want and I'll wrap it up for you."

"I want all four." He declared.

"Then I'll wrap all four." Buddy took the quartet in his arms, in a similar fashion to that which he had carried them in with, and exited the room.

By the time Davy had put his wraps back on and walked out to the shop section, Buddy had them wrapped in white paper and they had been placed inside two brown bags.

"Thank you Buddy. I really appreciate it."

"It's nothing, Davy. You'd best be getting home, though. It's already getting dark and apparently there's heavy snow in the forecast."

Not very surprised by this piece of information, Davy wrapped both arms around the bag and pushed the door open with his back.

"Goodbye, Buddy."

"Bye, Davy."

The snow was already starting to fall pretty hard, so he quickened his step.

Davy had no idea what had induced him to get all four of the nutcrackers. He usually only took one or two, but there had been something about these four that he just couldn't put his finger on. It was like they weren't meant to be separated.

_Well, it doesn't matter now. They're mine. _

And it was the truth; at the time, it really didn't matter.


	2. A Debt Unpaid

_Grandfather's House in Manchester, England_

_December 21, 1950_

Davy tugged at his grandfather's pant leg. The older man looked down at the boy.

"When will Mummy and Daddy be home?" he asked quietly.

"Soon. Now remember Davy, don't overwhelm your mother. She's tired." Grandfather had warned him about that before, but he obviously felt it was worth repeating.

The last two days had been ones of confusion for the two, almost three year old. After all, he had been thrust into the care of his grandfather and his grandfather's housekeeper, Penelope. He hadn't seen his mother at all; his father had only dropped by briefly and hadn't had time to play or do anything but speak to Grandfather briefly before he was out the door again.

Penelope had told him that today his parents would _finally_ be coming home, and that they'd be bringing a little sister for him.

There was a brief knock at the door.

"I'll get it Penelope!" Grandfather cried, leaping out of his Prussian blue armchair, which was something Davy had never seen him do. The older man quickly trotted towards the door and threw it open, stepping aside so that the people behind it might enter.

"Harold! Anna!"

"Mummy! Daddy!" the little boy exclaimed, running towards his mother, who was barely inside the house.

"Davy!" She handed the bundle to his father and knelt down by her son.

"I missed you little man." She wrapped her arms around him, and, looking to Grandfather, asked, "Did he behave?"

The older man smiled vaguely. "Oh yes. Just ask Penelope."

"Do you want to see your new sister?" Daddy inquired.

Davy tugged himself out of his mother's grasp before she could start showering him with kisses and toddled towards the sofa where his father had sat down with the bundle. The older man held it down so the boy could see.

She was a little red-faced thing, with fine, dark hair and her eyes were closed. He had to admit, though, she looked adorable wrapped in her sky blue blanket.

He raised his head and quietly asked his father, "What's her name?"

The older man smiled. "Beatrice."

Davy's gaze returned to the baby. "See here, Beatrice. I'll be the best older brother ever. No one will ever hurt you. Not while I'm around."

###

_Mum's Christmas Party_

_December 1961_

For many of the Jones' neighbors, Mum's Christmas party was the highlight of the social season, easily the most important night of the year. Months had been spent planning each and every detail of it.

But the week or so leading up to party was the busiest time of all. Food was the biggest issue.

Mrs. Jones insisted that all the food be prepared in her kitchen, by only family members or the closest of friends. In the final days of preparation, Mum and Penelope spent countless hours toiling over every single dish that could possibly be made ahead of time. During this point the kitchen was such a disaster area that Mr. Jones and the children usually just quietly slipped out to the Stevenson place. George and Jeanette ran a quaint hotel and were always ready to accommodate more for dinner.

Then, on the actual day of the party, Mrs. Jones and Penelope crazily attempted to prepare all the dishes that needed to be served more immediately, usually sending Beatrice or Davy out for the ingredients that they hadn't realized they'd run out of. Mrs. Jones was given to panicking that they wouldn't have enough time to get _everything_ ready.

This pandemonium was a far cry from Mum's usually meticulously organized kitchen that she proudly maintained without the help of servants. Everyone was glad when it was all over and they knew they wouldn't have to deal with it again until next December.

But the food wasn't all. There were the scores of musicians that Mrs. Jones didn't want to audition until the last minute because she feared they would forget their engagement if she did so any earlier. There were the final dress fittings for her and Beatrice. Checking over the list of RSVPs one last time to determine who was actually coming, and dealing with the numerous off the cuff cancellations. Concluding the setting up of the decorations that really weren't to be seen until the night of the party. And the list went on.

But, at long last, and through all hardships, the night of the party had finally arrived.

Davy was in his bedroom, changing into the hideous, extremely oversized tweed jacket his mother was making him wear this year. He found it beyond tacky, and personally wouldn't have made his worst enemy wear it, but knew that he had to just bear it. At least the other guys wouldn't tease him about it. They were better friends than that.

Well, Marc might make a comment, but it surely wouldn't be anything too severe.

He didn't known Marc as well as the others. He was an exchange student from the United States that he, Ernie, Harold, and Alistair had befriended. He was quite the dapper, crisp fellow, and for the most part seemed like a perfect gentleman. Getting Mum to invite him to the party hadn't been any problem at all.

Davy looked at himself in the mirror once more, and, convinced that the jacket was as presentable as it was ever going to be, he exited his room and sprinted down the stairs, intending to meet the others at the punchbowl as planned.

Alistair, Ernie, and Harold were already there.

"Hey fellows!" he exclaimed, snatching up a cup and getting himself some punch. After a long gulp, he asked, "Where's Marc?"

"I don't know. He came with me but once we got here he told me he had to do something." Ernie replied, taking a sip of his own punch. "That was, oh, about ten minutes ago."

"Davy!" Penelope called.

The punchbowl was conveniently located so that Davy could hear his mother or Penelope calling him from the kitchen, which was why they had chosen that specific spot to meet.

"I'll be right back." He told his mates, putting his cup down next to the bowl and hightailing towards the kitchen. When he got there, Penelope was leaning against the doorway, apparently exhausted, though the night had only just begun.

"Davy, would you go get your sister? We need reinforcements."

"Sure, Penelope." He replied quickly, darting out and towards the stairs. Wanting to rejoin his friends as soon as possible, he dashed up them in record time and down the hall.

Not even bothering to knock, he just burst into his sister's room.

"Bea, they need you…"

"Please don't!" he heard his sister cry.

Looking around the room, he saw that he sister was nowhere.

"Bea, if this is a joke…"

"No!" Her voice seemed to be coming from the closet.

Rolling his eyes, he pulled the door open. He was immediately numbed by the sight he saw.

Beatrice was flattened against the wall in the empty half of the closet. And Marc had pressed himself upon her. Turning his head, he glared reproachfully at the girl's older brother.

She looked at him too, her eyes desperate. The older American could no doubt easily overpower her, even fighting at her hardest.

_See here, Beatrice. I'll be the best older brother ever. No one will ever hurt you. Not while I'm around._

Davy didn't know why those words specifically echoed in his mind. He knew he had said them, but when?

Then the entire incident flash before his eyes. His parents had brought her home, two days after she was born, and…

Well, that was of no importance.

_Don't worry, Beatrice. I made a promise. And I'll keep it!_

Immediately, he pulled off his jacket and darted into the closet, driven on adrenaline. He desperately worked his hands between his sister and Marc and pulled the American back.

Suddenly freed, Beatrice retreated from the closet, obviously relieved but still somewhat shocked.

"Bea, the jacket!" Davy cried, struggling with the American.

She picked the garment up and, mustering up all the bravery she had within her, reentered the closet and tied his legs with it in record time.

_Well, maybe I __would__ make my worst enemy wear that jacket. _He thought a little ruefully.

Davy quietly placed his "friend's" head on the ground and shut the closet door. Once he made sure his sister was alright he'd get his father and they could remove Marc from the premises.

"Bea, did he…?"

"No." she replied shakily. "I think he was just trying to kiss me."

"Do you want to lie down? You've been through quite a bit tonight."

"No. I'd rather go downstairs. I'll feel…safer."

"What happened?"

"Well, I was just about to go downstairs when he came in. I couldn't get past him. Then he asked me to kiss him and I said no. Before you know it he had me in the closet, up against the wall."

"Oh Bea."

Silence.

"I guess it was lucky you came in when you did. Thank you." She smiled at him weakly.

He smiled back at her. "Why don't you go on downstairs? I'll get Dad and we'll take this character out of here."

"Alright. Davy, how can I thank you?"

"You don't have to, honey. Just seeing you safe is thanks enough."


End file.
